


A Snake Hatches

by imnotrory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Bashing, Drarry, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentor Severus Snape, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotrory/pseuds/imnotrory
Summary: Harry Potter, buried in the pain of the past, is saved by the most unlikeliest of people. Secrets come to light, and a snake awakens.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 115
Collections: Drarry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’d wrote this in a notebook when I was 14, and recently found it. It has all the cliches and tropes and so far, no apparent plot. I’m rewriting it (with better spelling, grammar, fleshing out etc..) for FUN. Do NOT take this serious. 
> 
> Also, the ages are closer to the ages I would’ve been. For example, I was 12 in first year, 13 in second year and so on.  
> Enjoy this 10 year old story and don’t judge my younger self for her thoughts that every cliché is brilliant.  
> (Ps, it starts after 4th year. I’m unsure if there are Horcruxes in this world. My younger self never wrote that far.)

Harry Potter stared up at the ceiling with tears in his eyes and blood in his mouth. He thought he was missing a tooth or two, but he was too tired to worry about it. He would rather think about his friends – or, the people he’d thought were his friends. He frowned. 

They hadn’t wrote to him all summer and there was only two weeks left. Not that it mattered, if he was honest. He couldn’t reply anyway. Poor Hedwig. Uncle Vernon had locked the window and barred it again and Harry’s owl hadn’t been able to get inside. He sighed and turned his head towards the window. She sat on the windowsill and hooted at him sadly. He smiled at her. 

“I’ll be okay Hedwig. Two more weeks, right?” He rasped. The bruising around his throat made it difficult to talk. Or breathe or swallow. 

Suddenly the sound of heavy feet on the stairs reached his ears and he groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He desperately hoped his uncle would leave him be. He didn’t know how much more he could handle.  
His uncle had been worse this year. After the Order had mentioned what had happened at the end of fourth year, Vernon had taken great pleasure in reminding him how useless he was and how he couldn’t even stop his friends from dying. His uncle had resorted to more than just beatings this summer and even Harry hadn’t thought that the large man could stoop so low. Harry had managed to shove himself so deep into his mind during those times, that he sometimes forgot he was alive. He rather liked it that way. 

The door banged open and Harry’s head snapped to look the figure looming in the doorway. 

Vernon sneered, “Boy, clean yourself up and get downstairs. You have a…visitor.” 

Harry’s eyes widened as his uncle turned and left. Just how was he supposed to clean himself up? How was he supposed to cover the bruising on his face and neck? The split lip? Just then, his aunt appeared and thrust some makeup at him silently. He nodded at her. She sniffed and left, closing the door behind her. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the wardrobe and opened it. He refused to meet his reflections eyes and began applying the makeup liberally. It made his face feel heavy and sticky, but it did the job, mostly. After a few minutes, he looked almost normal. A little pale, a little greasy, but presentable. He peered down and adjusted his clothes with a grimace. They were baggy and stained from doing the yard work earlier but he supposed they were good enough. He didn’t have anything else anyway. 

He took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height before opening the bedroom door and making his way downstairs. He kept his eyes downcast as he entered, though he did glance up at the visitor. He froze in the doorway as green eyes met icy blue. 

Lucius Malfoy. 

“Good evening, Mr Potter. I have been sent to pick you up as a safety precaution. We have heard…chatter, that the Dark Lord may make a move on your way to the station on the first.”

Harry just blinked after Malfoy stopped speaking. The liquid silk of his voice was definitely that of a Malfoy, but there was absolutely no way that this was Lucius Malfoy. He stared some more and noticed that the way the man held himself was familiar. He did not stand, he loomed. A lightbulb went off in his head and he almost laughed. Polyjuice Potion! 

He smiled politely, not showing his teeth, “Hi Mr Malfoy. Where will you be taking me then?”

The man sneered, “I cannot disclose the location.” And Harry suddenly knew why the stance was familiar and he felt his face pale. Professor Snape. He gulped and glanced at his relatives. Uncle Vernon was looking uncomfortable at the fact there was another ‘freak’ in his house, but there was a malicious grin on his fat face. Aunt Petunia simply looked uncomfortable and Dudley was cowering in the corner, one hand on his mouth and the other covering his backside. 

“I-“ Harry started. 

“Get your things Potter, we must leave promptly.” Snape-Malfoy snapped and Harry nodded. 

He turned to his uncle and refused to flinch at the look in his eyes.  
“I need the keys.” Harry said and held out a shaky hand. He suddenly felt dizzy and realised he’d been standing too long. God, he needed to eat. 

He did flinch when uncle Vernon stood up and reached into a pocket. He held out the keys in a meaty fist and then dropped them into the teenagers hand. Harry closed his fingers around the keys quickly and rushed to the cupboard under the stairs. He unlocked the door and opened it, reaching in to grab his trunk and his broom. He entered the living room again and nodded at Snape-Malfoy who suddenly looked pained. Harry frowned but shrugged it off. Snape was probably just unhappy that he had to be the one to come and get Harry. He handed the keys back to his uncle who put them in his pocket before clapping a hand down on Harry’s shoulder. Harry bit his tongue to stop any outward reactions and let his uncle lean down to his ear. 

“I’ll see you next year, boy.” He whispered nastily and Harry gulped and wrenched himself away. 

His heart hammered in his chest as he and his guide left the house. He took a deep breath and whistled, holding up an arm and ignoring his Polyjuiced Professor. Hedwig flew over the roof and landed on his arm, cooing and rubbing her head against his cheek. 

“Hey girl, I’m leaving. Meet me at – hold on, where are we going?” He asked, turning to the taller man. 

“I cannot disclose the location,” he repeated his earlier answer, “however if she can make her way to London, she will find you.” 

Harry was surprised to note that there was no hint of any coldness or hatred in the mans voice. He nodded and relayed that to Hedwig, who gave him one last face rub before flying off. Harry sighed and watched her before turning his attention to the other man. He blinked in surprise. Malfoy had reverted to being Professor Snape and Harry had the odd urge to laugh at the dour faced man in fancy clothes, carrying a cane. A small smile did cross his lips and Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. The older man stepped forwards and held out a small broken watch. Harry frowned down at it before looking back up at the Professor. 

Snape rolled his eyes, “It’s a portkey Potter. It will take us as close to the location as possible.” 

Harry felt his stomach tighten and he reached out slowly. After the Tournament, he’d developed a fear of this particular mode of travel. 

Spinning. Kill the spare. Green light. Laughter. 

“We are short on time Mr Potter.” Snape snapped coldly and Harry quickly grasped the watch. Snape muttered the activation word and before he knew it, they were spinning away. 

———

Severus Snape had not been looking forward to collecting the Potter brat at all. He did not want to see the life of luxury the brat was sure to have, or to listen to the touching goodbyes. The anger in his stomach after Dumbledore had mentioned this non-negotiable task had only worsened when he arrived in a pristine neighbourhood filled with identical houses and perfect lawns. 

He had rapped on the door sharply and waited. He had heard the heavy footsteps approaching the door and had to hold back a sneer as he was confronted with a large lump of a man. The man had appraised his clothes and smiled politely, his eyes lighting up with something Severus did not understand. Maybe pretending to be a Malfoy was not all bad. The man had introduced himself as Vernon Dursley and lead him into a tidy living room. Severus looked around and found a disgusting amount of pictures of Vernon and his wife, Petunia, and their son Dudley. His lips turned up into a sharp smile as he made polite chat with Petunia ‘Tuney’ Dursley while her husband fetched the brat. 

He was strangely amused to see the overweight Dudley covering his mouth and backside. There must be a story behind that. Perhaps he could find out, he mused. 

His musing had been cut short at the arrival of Potter. He’d kept a close watch on the exchange of keys, the shaking boy and the way he gathered his trunk and broom from a cupboard under the stairs. Severus had eyed the sorry state of the teenager and felt a modicum of disgust. The boy had obviously not bothered to cut or wash his hair as it hung down to his chin in greasy waves. He was extremely pale, almost skeletal, in hideously stained clothing and filthy. 

“We are short on time Mr Potter.” Severus had snapped coldly after the silly brat looked terrified at the thought of the portkey. 

It wasn’t until they were spinning away into darkness that Severus remembered why the boy would be apprehensive about this mode of travel. 

Not my problem, he thought.

They landed on a long street of townhouses under a busted streetlight. He had to reach out to steady the boy when he’d almost collapsed to the wet ground. Severus looked down at the teen and was surprised to find that his skin was shiny with sweat and two different tones. Potter blinked up at him slowly and Severus felt a thread of fear. 

Something was wrong with the boy. 

“Mr Potter, can you hear me?” He asked in a flat voice - the closest to gentle that Severus Snape could manage. The boy blinked again. 

“Nng.” He rasped and reached up to wipe his face. Severus watched as the boys skin seemed to melt away and reveal some horrible bruising. He sucked in a breath and lifted his wand, muttering a cleaning spell over the boy. 

The hair remained greasy and the clothes only got slightly cleaner, but there was no longer the hideous odour of sweat and fluids. There was also now only the one tone of skin. Pale, sweaty, bruised and bleeding skin. Potter took that moment to go limp in his arms and Severus cursed. He looked up at house number 11 and 13 and then pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was slightly awkward to hold in one hand while also keeping the teenager upright with the other. 

“The location of the Order of the Phoenix is held at 12 Grimmauld Place.” 

As the building slowly appeared, Severus looked down at the teen. He looked peaceful which was something the older man had never seen on this face before. He’d seen curiosity, wonder, confusion, fear, anger, happiness and desperation on this face before. Never peace. He let his eyes trace the swollen bruises that began on the right side of the boys forehead, from the famous scar, all the way down to the chin. He eyes the split lip and the possibly-broken nose. The bruises on the pale neck - suspiciously hand shaped - stood out and made Severus’ lips twist in anger. The threadbare jumper the boy wore hid anything else, and he continued his assessment down to the boys hands. His fingers bent at odd angles and the wrist of the boys wand hand seemed wrong. 

He looked up as the house finished materialising. If he were to take the boy in there, it would be chaos. The house was filled to the brim with idiots. Black would, of course, blame Severus. Molly would cry and fuss, while her husband struggled the keep her calm and the brood of children at bay. The boys friends, Weasley and Granger would be in hysterics and absolutely nobody in that house would trust Severus to heal the brat. 

He made a decision. Possibly a bad decision, a dangerous one, but he made it anyway. He could not take the boy in there but he also couldn’t take him to Spinner’s End. Both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore knew where that was. 

There was only one other choice. 

He sighed. Shrinking the boys trunk and broom, he put them into his pocket and gripped the boy tightly. 

He turned on the spot and apparated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not how 14-year-old me had written it. She had written it from Snape’s perspective but it really didn’t make sense and I couldn’t find a way to do so. So I went a different route and I’m HOPING it will fit much better.

Soppy sometimes wondered if being the Head Elf of a long abandoned manor was worth it. With no Master around making mess, or needing fed or clothed, the house elves had little to do. Sometimes Soppy would secretly create a large mess and blame it on an animal, just so that the elves under her care had something to do.   
As it was, she was currently flitting around a large bedroom, destroying clothes and furniture while the other elves slept. She was taking great pleasure in destroying a disgusting wedding dress that had belonged to a Mistress long ago. Just as she was about to rip the veil into smithereens, she felt a strange tingle in her belly. She stopped and tilted her head, examining the feeling of magic that had become unfamiliar. Her big eyes widened and she followed the feeling, popping out of the bedroom and landing in the Entrance Hall. 

Soppy was shocked by the image that greeted her. Standing there in the Entrance Hall was a tall, pale man with black hair and a hooked nose. Her blood sang as the house bonds that held the elves started pulsing happily. Here was a Master. _Her_ Master. She went to greet him before her eyes fell on another figure. Someone who shouldn’t have been able to enter the house unless a Master had keyed the wards to that person. She narrowed her eyes as she looked the man -no, _boy_ \- her Master held. 

He was short and so thin he was practically skeletal. From what Soppy could see, he was injured badly and barely hanging onto life. His black curls were lank and greasy, sticking to his sweaty forehead which was adorned with a strange scar. The strangest thing, though, was that the house bonds also reached out to him, almost as strong as they were towards her new Master. She squinted her eyes at the child and noticed a fuzzy aura around him, as if what she was seeing wasn’t true. 

Suddenly, her new Master spoke. 

“If there are any elves in this manor, report to me urgently!”

Soppy allowed herself to become visible just as the rest of her clan popped into the room. They all gasped and began bowing but Soppy stood straight and stared up at the man. 

“Head Elf Soppy at your service, Master.” She said, her voice betraying her excitement at finally having someone to serve. The man looked down his hooked nose with a sneer, yet his eyes betrayed his emotions. He was confused and suspicious, but she could see that he was a little hopeful as well. 

“I require your assistance. A room with a bed, multiple healing potions and also a change of clothes.” He barked, then paused, “Please.”

Soppy felt her eyes welling up as she nodded. The other elves wailed. Never had a Master or Mistress in this manor said ‘please’ to them before and they weren’t sure how to handle it. In their many years of service they had never had any kindness. They lived to serve, and their previous Masters and Mistresses treated them as little more than animals. Soppy remembered the stories her ancestor used to tell her. Of times when house elves were free of times when they chose to serve a family, and of times when they could leave their family if they were unhappy. Then the Great Plague had almost decimated the elves. It would eat the elves’ magic and leave them weak to the elements and they would eventually die from even the smallest of injury. One of Soppy’s own ancestors had died from pricking herself with a needle. The tiny wound had bled and bled and would not stop, and as the elves had lost their magic, there was nothing to be done. 

Soppy shook her head slightly and brought a hand up and snapped her fingers. She, her new Master, and the injured child were now in a guest room in the East Wing. Her Master instantly stepped towards the bed and laid the child on top as gently as he could. Soppy popped away, collecting healing potions from the Lab -and thanking Magic for stasis charms- before popping back into the room. 

Her Master had stripped the boy down to his underwear and Soppy felt her heart swell with emotion. Without the baggy clothing, the boy looked even worse. She could see every single bone in his body. Bruises and wounds littered his body, some fresh and bleeding while others were older and scabbed. She could see heavy scarring and although she had trouble reading the English language, she could understand some of the words carved into the skin. She sniffled as she felt water pool in her eyes and her Master glanced at her. His face was blank but his eyes told her how shocked and upset he was at seeing the young child injured so badly. She floated the potions over to him and then stood quietly as she watched him work. 

He first vanished the blood, dirt and grime that covered the boy. He then reached for a jar of Bruise Balm and began covering the boy with it liberally, focusing on the bruising around the boys throat. Soppy guessed this was so that it would make it easier to help the boy swallow the potions and was glad to see she was correct. Her Master tipped potion after potion down the boys mouth, massaging his throat gently between each one to make sure he swallowed. He then went to work on cleansing and then closing the open wounds, conjuring bandages to cover the deeper ones that would take longer to heal. Her Master waved his wand and Soppy couldn’t see what had changed but her Master was suddenly plying another potion down the boys throat. He then levitated the boy and turned him over, gasping at the sight of the boys back. 

From where Soppy stood, she could see that it was worse than the boys front. There was no inch of skin that wasn’t covered in bruises or wounds or scars. More words were carved into the boys back, some fresh and others clearly years old. The back of the boys legs were lined with thick straight welts and Soppy could see a dark red spot on the boys underwear. Her Master was staring in horror at that area and even though Soppy didn’t know what it meant, she knew that something was terribly wrong. 

“That fucking muggle _bastard_.” 

The anger in her Masters voice startled her and she instinctively flinched even though she knew that it wasn’t aimed at her. She watched as he began waving his wand urgently, spelling away the blood and muttering furiously under his breath as he closed and bandaged wounds, rubbed Bruise Balm everywhere, before gently peeling the boys underwear down. Soppy had to look away from the sight of the boys backside before she burst into tears. She’d seen the word carved across the boys backside and even though she didn’t know what a ‘faggot’ was, she could only guess it wasn’t a good thing. 

Hours passed as her Master deemed the boys surface injuries healed and began working on the internal ones. He vanished many of the boys bones, poured some Skele-Gro down the boys throat and then sat down on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Soppy had taken a few steps forward, unsure as what to do, when her eyes caught sight of something on the boys chest. 

“Oh!” She gasped as she realised what it was. 

Her Master looked up at her sharply. He’d obviously forgotten she was here and her exclamation had startled him. 

“What is it?!” He barked, glancing between her and where her gaze was focused. 

She lifted a hand and pointed her finger, “The young Master has the Mage Mark.” 

Her Master stared at the Mark in suspicion, then recognition and finally confusion. “How can that be? There are no Mages in the Potter or Evans line.” 

Soppy wasn’t listening though. She was gazing at the boy in absolute awe. She had seen many Mage Marks before; Earth Mages, Water Mages, Weather Mages, and even more. But she’d never seen one like this. It was a tall thin crown marked with a lightning bolt, with a serpent wrapped around it. Three circles of runes surrounded it, flowing and changing as she watched. She didn’t know what it meant but she had a feeling it was important. Maybe she could talk to the goblins? She didn’t know. 

“His sixteenth birthday _was_ a fortnight ago, it could be an inheritance. But from where? And _how_?” Her Master muttered, staring at the Mark, “The Goblins might be able to help, especially the Potter account manager. I must contact the bank.”

Soppy turned and grinned at her Master. He’d had the same thought she did! He glanced at her before summoning some parchment and quill. He moved to a desk in the corner -an antique mahogany one with shining silver handles- and began writing a short letter. He cast a drying spell before floating it over to Soppy. 

“Soppy, take this to Gringotts and ask for the Potter account manager. When he arrives, give him this and refuse to leave until he replies.” 

His voice was sharp and his lips were set in a sneer, but Soppy was beginning to think it was just the way he was. 

“Yes Master sir.” She said and snapped her fingers and disappeared with a soft pop. 

Soppy hadn’t been out in the world since her last Master died. She had arrived in the bank invisible, and was taking a quick minute to look around. It was a large space with marble floors and marble pillars. There were portraits of dragons and goblin warriors dotted everywhere, and the long counters each had small dragons carved into the dark wood. Soppy felt that this was a subtle warning to anyone thinking of stealing from the bank. The goblins of Gringotts were known to have dragons deep within the building, guarding some of the oldest and most valuable vaults. 

House Elves and Goblins had an uneasy truce that had spanned as far back as Soppy could remember. They both served the Magical World without really having their own space in it. They were both trusted and were both looked upon with suspicion and treated like mindless beasts. There had been wars between the two races over who had it worse, but after the Plague had decimated the elven population, the leader of each race had come together and came up with a treaty. 

Soppy gathered her wits and popped over to a teller, making herself visible this time. She looked up at the goblin with reservation. He was an old one, with short white hair and a long pointed nose. He was missing an eye and looked incredibly annoyed at everything. 

“What do you want?” He growled and Soppy gulped. 

“Master told me to ask for the Potter accounts manager, Mr Goblin sir.” She squeaked out. He leaned over the counter and glared down at her. It was quite unnerving. Seconds passed but Soppy felt like it had been forever, before the goblin grunted and pressed a button. 

“Griphook!” He barked into an odd looking machine which she eyed curiously. 

She stood silently as he went back to some paperwork. She glanced around and nervously watched the witches and wizards milling around. She spotted a goblin stalking towards her with a deep frown on his face. He had long dark hair and darker eyes, but his nose was more hooked than pointed and he had less wrinkles than the goblin she had spoken to. 

“What is it, elf?” He asked her. His voice was quiet yet harsh and she felt herself shake a little. He somehow seemed scarier than the first goblin. 

She held out the letter, her small hand shaking. He took it from her and sliced it open with a sharp nail and began to read. A slow and sinister smirk spread across his lips. 

“Ah, he finally awakens.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not happy with this chapter. It is mostly a filler chapter if I’m honest. I just didn’t think I could skip right to Harry being awake, you know?
> 
> Beta read by:

Severus Snape felt exhausted and nauseous. 

His entire world view had been shifted in only a few hours. Just last night, he’d been drowning his sorrows in some of Ogden’s finest while regretting ever having met Albus Dumbledore. How that man had managed to convince him to pick up Harry _bloody_ Potter was beyond him. And now, he was reevaluating everything he thought he knew. He sat down slowly on an armchair by the old fireplace, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. The nausea eased a little but not enough for his liking. 

_The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Potter is as spoiled and arrogant as his father before him._

Up until a few hours ago, Severus had believed that with every fibre of his being. Looking at the unconscious teen on the bed made Severus want to cry, want to throw up, and want to curse Albus to hell and back. His wrists ached after the constant motions of waving his wand and pouring potions down the boys throat. He looked up slowly, staring blankly at Potter. He waved his wand once more, casting the Advanced Diagnostic Charm. This charm, unlike the simpler version, would tell Severus of every injury the boy had received since birth and which ones had been healed when, and the name of the Healer. The parchment appeared in his other hand and grew as the injuries were recorded. He didn’t take his eyes off of Potter, ignoring the fact that the parchment got longer and longer by the minute. 

His mind was in absolute chaos. 

Questions and observations and memories of the past swirled and clashed behind his Occlumency barriers. How had the boy hidden this? How had it gotten this bad? Who had done this? What sort of _monster_ would carve words into the skin of a child? Not even the Dark Lord did that. Severus thinks that’s the thing that’s bothering him most. The fact that Potter had come into contact with someone who would torture him like this - someone who was _worse_ than the madman who had been hunting him since before he was even born - had jarred Severus’ very core. 

A small “ding” signalled that the spell had finished its job and he found it incredibly hard to acknowledge the terrifyingly long parchment. 

_You are a spy, Severus Snape. The Dark Lord’s right hand man. How can you be such a coward as to not even look at a piece of parchment?_

He scowled at his inner voice which laughed mockingly at him. He steeled himself and sat up straight, flicking his wand back into his sleeve and taking the parchment in both hands. The nauseous feeling returned tenfold and he had the sudden urge to track down whoever had hurt the teenager and kill them slowly. 

He started with the earliest of injuries. A bruised knee here, a scraped elbow there and the occasional bump on the head. These injuries had all been healed within seconds – by Lily, of course – and were obviously the result of a small child learning to crawl or walk. There was then a mess of scribbled ink, _Avada Kedavra_ , shakily written amongst the scribbles. After that were more severe injuries; a dislocated shoulder, a bruised wrist and a black eye. None healed. It only got worse from there. By the time the boy was six, he’d had his hands broken and burnt around sixteen times with nothing being healed. Severus scanned over the rest quick enough to see the damage but not slow enough to take it in, lest he lose his breakfast. It wasn’t until this summer that the sexual abuse had begun. The word that was carved across his backside had happened only three weeks into the holiday and had been healed by the boys own magic. 

He banished the parchment and returned to his earlier position. He did not want to look at the boy just now. His mind was busy processing the new information, fighting against his age old beliefs. 

Severus sighed and leaned back against the chair. He cast his eyes around the room, avoiding looking at Potter for too long. He’d gave the boy a mild Sleeping Draught; just enough to ensure he stayed still and calm until he was fully healed. The bed took up a large portion of the room, centred between two large windows that reached from wall the floor. Directly across from the bed was the door into the rest of the house, and to the left of the door stood a small fireplace with two dark leather armchairs sat in front of it. To the right of the door stood the desk and the wardrobe, both large enough to accommodate two people at least. The wall to the right of the bed was all empty bookshelves, and across from that wall there was a door to a modest sized en-suite. A large ornate mirror stood in a corner on a plush cream rug. 

The room held no photos or knickknacks and felt extremely cold. _It would need decorating_ , Severus thought. Whichever family member had stayed in this room beforehand had no sense of design at all. Creams and browns and reds, purples and yellows. Nothing matched nor made sense and it annoyed him greatly. Even if this was going to be an empty room posing as a guest room, he would not have this…this… _horror_ within his own home. 

His own thoughts shocked him. He hadn’t been here before today and he had already decided he was going to live here. He supposed it had something to do with the hatred he had for Spinners End. Or maybe because this place was a complete unknown to both those he served. 

There was a quiet pop and Severus jumped, flicking his wand out and snapping his head in the direction of the noise. His wand lowered at the sight of Soppy, the Head Elf, standing next to a goblin, her eyes flickering nervously between the bed and Severus. He himself was eyeing the goblin but the goblin wasn’t paying him any attention. The goblin was completely focused on the figure on the bed, a sharp smile on its face and a hungry look in its eyes. Severus took a step towards the bed and raised his wand once again, glaring at the creature severely. 

“What is your name, goblin?” He barked but the goblin barely reacted at all except to turn its gaze on him. 

“I am Griphook, the Potter account manager as of July 31st. And you…are Severus Snape.”

The goblin – Griphook – smiled up at Severus with a mouthful of sharp teeth. There was a moment of silence before Severus nodded shortly, which seemed to make Griphook’s smile sharper. Griphook walked towards the bed and sat something on the very end. Severus eyed it carefully. There seemed to be a few ledgers of various thickness, but Severus was more interested in the book at the bottom of the stack. It was a thick book, all dark red and black leather and the magic that came off it was so strong Severus could taste it in the back of his throat. He edged closer and had the oddest urge to touch it, to take it. The goblins bony hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist and squeezed tightly. Severus hadn’t even realised he’d reached his hand out. He felt the back of his neck heat with embarrassment. He was a _spy_ for crying out loud! A master of the Dark Arts. The bat of the dungeons! Feared by students and adults alike. Yet he’d reached out for a book like a mindless First Year. 

He pulled his lips into a sneer and snatched his hand back.

Griphook smirked, “Now now, we all make mistakes. However I am not here to antagonise you. I am here to help bring the young Mage the tools he will need.” The goblin turned back to the boy, “How did he become so injured? It would explain why he has not fully come into his inheritance. Which would explain why the glamour is still active.”

Severus felt his lips part in shock. There was a glamour on the boy? One that would not dissipate until he had hit his inheritance? He shook his head to clear it, “I do not have proof on how he got so injured although I do have my theories.” 

The goblins eyes sparked as he too reached the conclusion that Severus had. “Nothing can be done by Gringotts without proof. Not even you could do anything just yet.” The last part was muttered quietly but Severus still heard it. 

“What has it got to do with me?”

Griphook just shook his head, “When will he wake? We cannot push his inheritance back much longer. He will need some basic training before he returns to Hogwarts, lest he blow up the building with a simple charm.”

All the Potions Master could do was blink. Blow up Hogwarts? The teenager in the bed? Harry _bloody_ Potter had the power to blow up fucking _Hogwarts_? Severus suddenly needed a drink..a strong one. 

“Not for a few hours yet. His body needed extensive healing.” He answered, his voice quiet, “Here is the results of his diagnostic, all the details are there.” He handed over the parchment to the goblin and then turned his attention back to the sleeping teen.   
Now that he knew there was a glamour he could see the slight fuzziness of the air around the teen and felt quite put out that he hadn’t noticed it before. His eyes trailed over the boy, taking in every detail and wondering which ones were real and which were glamoured. He knew that all of the scars were real; from the lightning bolt on his forehead, to the pink lines that marred the boys chest, to the words carved into the flesh of his thighs. Potter’s raven curls both stuck to his face and splayed out on the pillow beneath him. Pale eyelids hid eyes as green as the Killing Curse, and his full pink lips were dry and bitten. He was skeletal thin, yet Severus could see the potential for a powerfully lithe body once he was on nutritional potions, eating right and exercising. His eyes lingered on the mark above Potter’s left nipple and he found his curiosity burning. 

“And what of this Mark? The Potter’s have never had a Mage in their line and his mother’s family are all muggles.” 

Griphook looked back up at him and Severus almost took a step back as those beady black eyes bore into him. 

“That explanation will have to wait until Mr Potter wakes up. Although I will give you a hint; Lily Potter was never a Muggleborn.”


End file.
